


Alvarado

by GiGi (Sincerity)



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 16:26:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11294394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincerity/pseuds/GiGi
Summary: "Hey, mom. Happy birthday. I don't know if you can hear me.I hope you can. I really do. I got a B minus on that test I told you about.Just barely, ha.I don't...I don't really know what to say. I never do.I don't have as much time as usual, sorry about that, but I have a job interview.Dad said you'd be proud if I got a job.I'm going to try and earn money. I don't really know why. I gotta-- I gotta go.I'll talk to you later. Love you."





	Alvarado

Coffee. Sweet smelling. You'd feel the heat from it when you're just a few feet away, if you didn't first notice the steam coming from the cream-colored cup. Two marshmallows. Cream and milk added. Sweeter than a flower, really, and anyone else would probably cringe at the taste.

She loved it, though.

Sunlight shining through the blinds and thin curtains of the slider windows, leaving dazzling and dancing specks on the kitchen counter. Faint ambience of birds and wind heard coming from a radio right next to the fridge, on top of the oven, even though you could hear the same sounds directly outside.

The ramblings of a child, one far too eager to go to school today. Talking with his mouth full while eating cereal. The milk was going everywhere, really, but she didn't mind. She'd simply clean it later, and how could it be a bother? He was her world, along with his father.

It was hilarious, honestly. Sometimes he'd be dying to go to school, and other times he'd swear he'd die if he got out of bed. Wasn't it worrisome for him to know about the concept of death at his age? She didn't think so. As long as he was happy and healthy in his mind, body, and soul.

She always thought it was so interesting, how kids knew so much these days. Far more than she did at their age. Just a thought that popped into her head often while washing her fine china.

Sometimes, when he spoke to her, she'd do something terrible.

She wouldn't actively listen.

No, no. She'd be too distracted by his giant green eyes (he got them from his dad), and the way he had the outrageously wavy mix of his father's straight hair and her own frizzy curls hair. His lanky arms and thin neck, the way the light would reflect off of him in the most gorgeous way possible. How every time he smiled, she would see herself.

He'd ramble on about an occurrence at school, and she'd nod her head along with his stories. She loved him more than she could describe.

 

But she never had to actively listen. Any word he spoke would find it's way to her ears almost magically.

Which is why she knew all about the kid that took his safety scissors when they were making origami birds, so she bought him an even more colorful pair to show off. She knew about the girl that would cry any time he'd be oblivious to what liking someone is. Poor girl.

She knew all about the grades he was making in his class, being the best among his peers.

She knew about how he'd rather do more assignments when other kids were playing with the building blocks--until they touched his favorite color, that is. He took one from class one day because he didn't know how to describe the color, and it was just the most soothing shade of purple. She placed it on top of her nightstand, right next to her bed.

She'd always love to tell her lover when he got home, too. They'd spend the afternoon in the living room together, all three of them, and enjoy the same cartoons as the little one in their lap.

He tried to play catch with him one day, though she knew he wouldn't like it. She suggested gardening instead. She knew he'd be interested in the different types of plants.

She always knew.

Her lover was upset at first, of course, not because of the activity but because it felt to him as if the little one had a preference. She knew it would pass.

Eventually, he and the little one would actually garden together in the backyard, despite how tiny it was, and she'd always watch from the kitchen window. She knew gardening was the right choice.

She always knew.

 

It's hard to believe that she knew what was going to happen in a few years, though.

 

He was older now, soon to be going into middle school. His birthday was coming up. June 4th. Despite how many things have changed over the years, he always ate breakfast at the dinner table while she fixed his lunch at the counter. Sunlight still poking through the thin window curtains, though their color had dulled over the years.

He'd talk about his previous days at school, and what he wanted out of the present. He always learned from the past, and she was so thankful for that. He'd still garden with father a lot, and he'd bring friends over and ask them to help. He actually had flowers named after a few of them.

He was growing up well, truly a blessing.

But along with the things that stayed the same, there were things that faded.

Her health.

She couldn't move as quickly or easily as she used to.

"I'm just sleepy, honey," She would start. "No need to worry. Mommy's just tired."

He didn't pay attention to the conversation that would take place in the living room while he was doing homework-- he didn't notice the frequent mentions of "You need to see a hospital"s and "It's something more"s.

She would smile and tilt her head, her frizzies encompassing her shoulders, and shrug it off.

He looked forward to spending the afternoon with his parents, like he always would.

Father would have to work more to support mother, coming home a few hours later than usual, after the little one had already gotten out of school.

Sometimes, mother would need more rest and wouldn't be able to watch shows with the two of them.

They bought him new toys--electronic ones--to occupy his time when they weren't available. He didn't want them at first, threw the biggest tantrums in all honesty. But despite his young age, he quickly realized how his actions affected them.

He grew to use the devices more often. It put less stress on mother and father.

 

Things started changing quicker.

 

The radio stayed on in the mornings for a while, with the serenity of nature flowing through the house, but mother was never in the kitchen anymore. His lunch was always in a paper bag on the counter, with a sweet message written on the front of it every day. He didn't take as long to eat breakfast anymore, as there wasn't much use.

He started to ride the bus. Mother was too frail to drive, although she hid it from father quite well.

It wasn't too difficult to do so when father never came home until late in the afternoon-- sometimes in the dead of night.

"People have been getting laid off."

"There's more work that has to be done with no one to do it."

"I get paid overtime, what's the big deal?!"

"You're already his favorite."

He would go out to the backyard and tend to his flowers when conversations like that happened.

He couldn't remember the names he had given most of them. People come and go.

Petunias were his favorite. He loved the color.

 

Last year of middle school. The house was much quieter now. Mother slept a lot, and father was still always at work, though they had been losing money.

He was playing a video game on the living room T.V. when it happened.

The shattering of china.

 

Things changed entirely at that point.

Mother slept at the hospital down the street now, and father didn't come home too often.

He would ride his bike to the hospital to visit mother a lot. She'd ask him how he was doing, and how his day went. They'd always hold hands during their conversation. She'd tell him to hurry home so he didn't miss father come in from work.

He said father never really came in anymore.

She didn't comment.

 

Sophomore year in high school.

 

Coffee. Strong smelling. You wouldn't be able to tell if it was heated or not, because it was in a bland, silver thermos that had a hole in the lid for the smallest straw to fit through. No marshmallows or cream added this time. Tiny bits of leaves were in it. It seemed as if it would taste bitter, and would make anyone cringe at the taste.

She loved it, though.

Sunlight shining through the blinds of the stationary window, leaving a bright beam shining over anything in the room. It was almost blinding at times. You could hear the beeping of a heart monitor, and the various conversations of nurses and doctors that walked past the room.

The ramblings of a child, one far too eager for mother to recover. He'd mess with the straw in the thermos while he spoke, trying to distract his hands. He always brought it with him on his visits now. She says they help her feel better.

It was hilarious, honestly. That she still tried to baby him even though he knew better at this point.

 

He would always know...


End file.
